


Red

by Scrib_hneoir



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, I am so sorry, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Non-Linear Narrative, Suicide Attempt, since I dont actually remember writing this, so I didnt appropriately tag it, that last tag is tagged way to late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrib_hneoir/pseuds/Scrib_hneoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the color of the lipstick you haven’t worn in months, having drifted to darker shades that don’t match your eyes. I stare at it, wondering.</p><p>It’s what I see when I casually search the weekly paper. It’s the color of the pen on the calendar as I mark down the days since your death to me.</p><p>It’s what I see when I wonder what I did wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

It’s what I see when I wonder what I did wrong.

 

It’s what I see when you pass by my desk, eyes straight ahead, seeing nothing but the CEO’s doors in front of you.

 

It’s what I see when he offers me one of his marlboros. Those sharp breaths make me forget your opaque eyes that were once so full of color.

 

It’s what I see when you come home late smelling of alcohol and someone else’s cigarette.

 

It’s what I see when I fall asleep on the couch, missing your old silence.

 

_It’s streaks, that headache with lightheadedness, the first time you held me close and told me I was beautiful._

 

It’s what I see the first time I hear you yell. The first time you yell at me. A voice so soft… I never thought it could reach such volume.

 

It’s what I see when you stop coming home all together.

 

_My head doesn’t stop spinning for days. You’re at work, but it’s almost like you’re not. I’m barely there, myself. I dial your number – over and over and over – but never press that call button. The world starts losing its former brightness without you._

 

It’s what I see when I finally summon the strength to reach out to you, and you ignore my existence.

 

It’s what I see when I wonder what I did wrong.

 

_He offers me a second marlboro, but I shake my head and toss away the one I had already had. It was disgusting, nothing but smoke and paper._

 

_“Maybe you should try one of those electric vape things,” he suggests, leaning back. The base of the club pounds against the wall, and I can barely hear my own heartbeat. “That girl brought one in the other day and she’s already started a trend.”_

 

_I know the answer. I ask anyway. “Which girl? The one with…?”_

 

_“Black hair? Sometimes wears glasses?”_

 

It’s what I see one my days off when I walk to the lake and toss pebbles against the glassy sky, the ripples mimicking my own mind.

 

_After nineteen days of instant noodles, you stumble through the door reeking of too many things – cigarettes, bad liquor, gasoline, acetone, two-day old take out. Your eyes are bloodshot and your hair's a mess, your work dress ripped._

 

_I stand because I’m worried, but you jolt away like I might hurt you._

 

_When have I ever hurt you?_

 

It’s what I see when I wonder what I did wrong.

 

_I sit back down and stare at the TV that hasn’t been turned off in three days. It fills the silence I so hate ever since you left._

 

_You go to the bedroom and shut the door. I hear water running soon after, so I make some instant noodles and leave them outside the bedroom door for when you want them._

 

_It’s nearly one in the morning and my head bobs in fatigue when I realize the water is still running. I debate standing, checking on you, but I decide you wouldn’t want me to, so I curl up on the couch and drift into uneasy sleep._

  


 

It’s what I saw when you smiled and shook my hand, welcoming me to the company. You wore it on your lips and ears. It glimmered on every word you spoke, each sentence articulated to be concise and meaningful.

 

You use that same tone when you spoke to me in the bathroom, a chance meeting I had gone out of my way to avoid. But you backed me into a stall and tucked my hair away from my face, a face I always tried to cover.

 

It’s the color of my skin when you give me a genuine smile and press our lips together. It’s awkward and not romantic, with my hands braced against the back of the toilet as my knees threatened to collapse.

 

It’s the color of the sun when you meet me after work and walk me home, only you follow me inside and show me how to make tenmusu.

 

It’s the color I wear to the first company party, and it’s what I feel in my chest when you tell me later you couldn’t take your eyes off me. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, either.

 

It’s what I see when you steal kisses from me in quiet halls or after hours. It’s what I feel when I think about asking to live with you, anxious panic churning in my stomach, all settled by your happy smile and excited, “Yes!”

 

It’s the color of your words when you hold me at night, whispering in my ear, making me never want to leave, making me look forward to coming home every night.

  


 

 

_Maybe I should have checked on your that night. Maybe I should have wondered why the water was running for so long._

  
It’s what I see when I open the door at six in the morning after four hours of restless sleep. You sit in a flooding tub of your own life, your skin pale, your face hallow.

 

It’s the color of sirens and paramedics. It’s the color of clipboards and pens. It’s what I feel when they ask me what happened and my chest tightens and all I can say is, “I don’t know.”

 

_Guilt and shame and self-loathing are no stranger to me._

 

It’s the color of the lipstick you haven’t worn in months, having drifted to darker shades that don’t match your eyes. I stare at it, wondering.

 

It’s what I see when I casually search the weekly paper. It’s the color of the pen on the calendar as I mark down the days since your death to me.

 

It’s what I see when I wonder what I did wrong.

 

_It all started with the promotion, didn’t it? I was tired and you were stressed and the day was long and I couldn’t say what you needed to hear and the one time I wasn’t there for you was all it took to spiral downwards – is that it? Is that the origin of everything we built falling apart?_

 

_And I don’t see anything for a while – it’s all faded, the world is meaningless. The flowers on my desk are pointless. The condolences from friends and coworkers are empty. The bed at home is just another bed._

 

_I wear your lipstick sometimes._

 

It’s what I see when a key turns in the door and my heart stops. It’s the color of cherry blossoms, which is what the room smells like.

 

Your arms are bound in it, trails and roads circling your skin from your wrist past your elbow, hiding under your sleeves. The scars are stitched and angry and sad and silent all at the same time. It’s the color of your eyes, streaking and breaking their beautiful, onyx color.

 

It’s what I see when you say nothing, only set the old, silver key down on the counter, turn, and walk away.

 

It’s what I feel when I don’t chase after you.

**Author's Note:**

> *sigh* after months of no writing this is what happens  
> literally all thanks to maroon 5 and cigarettes at 1am  
> whoops  
> I might have also been kinda of high... IT WAS A REALLY BAD NIGHT
> 
> if you need me to add more tags for the themes here plz tell me and I'll do it. today has been a day and Im not sure what else to tag this at the moment


End file.
